Prelude to Love Read online

  "Colonel Forrester," she answered, with a wrench to consider that now the ball would be getting into full swing. The orange trees would be giving off their perfume, the silk sheets making an intimate roof over the heads of Miss Fischer and Miss Condie and all the fortunate ladies who were standing up with the commandant, but of course the heinous word "ball" did not intrude into this Methodist sanctuary.

  Mrs. Rafferty said she disapproved of all Frenchmen on principle, and Mr. Rafferty pronounced that Napoleon ought to be drawn and quartered if he dared to set a toe on England, and so he would be, by Jehosephat. Miss Bradford taxed her ingenuity to think of another subject to pass the next half hour, at which time she felt she could decently retire. She jumped six inches from her chair when the front-door knocker pounded.

  "Who the deuce can be calling at such an hour?" Mr. Rafferty snorted with an accusing look at his wife. "Bad enough people we scarcely know ..." His eyes just peeled off the top of Vanessa's head, to intercept a repressive stare from his wife, who was not quite such a savage as her husband.

  "Why don't you go and see?" she asked pretty sharply. He arose, but before he reached the doorway, there was the sound of a young gentleman's voice asking for Mr. Edward Rafferty. The lady of the house addressed her husband as John, so Vanessa assumed there was a son on the premises, one with the wits to have removed himself from the saloon.

  "Edward is not at home," Mrs. Rafferty said. "Who can be calling on him?"

  The butler marched to the archway to announce in injured accents, "Mr. Carlisle."

  A well-formed young man entered, elegantly got up in dark clothing. He smiled politely. He was not exactly handsome, but he had a winning smile and rather happy eyes—blue eyes. Had he been only a quarter as presentable, he would have been a welcome addition to the party, in the lady's view. He bowed politely to the ladies before giving Mr. Rafferty's hand a shake.

  "I understand your son is away?" he asked, looking surprised to hear it.

  "He is gone off to some races," the mother told him, with deep disapproval.

  "He must have gone to the Doncaster meet. Odd he did not mention it," Carlisle replied, apparently not realizing that racing, tinged as it was with gambling, was a taboo in this household.

  "Very likely," the dame agreed. "Did you wish to see Edward?"

  "We had an appointment," Mr. Carlise said. "He invited me to visit him two weeks ago, to come on this date. We were to go to London together. Odd he did not let me know he was leaving."

  "Well, he is not here," Mrs. Rafferty repeated, just casting her eyes about the room as though to hint he could see for himself.

  Miss Bradford was made acquainted with him, which brought him to a chair beside her. "Visiting, are you?" he asked pleasantly.

  "Miss Bradford is staying overnight with us," the hostess explained. "Would you care for a cup of tea before you leave, Mr. Carlisle?"

  "Leave?" he asked, his brows rising. "But surely Edward will be here tomorrow morning. We had a definite appointment."

  "Oh, you want to stay overnight," Rafferty said in an accusing way.

  "I would not want to put you to any trouble," he said quickly, even apologetically. "I can go to an inn, if there is one nearby."

  An inn was likely to serve him strong drink, a thing to be avoided at whatever personal inconvenience to the Raffertys, as the man was a friend of their son. "It will be no trouble," the woman said, her thin voice belying the generous words.

  "You are very kind," he said, accepting a cup of tea.

  The parents' hostility thawed somewhat over the tea. "So you are a friend of Edward's, are you?" Mr. Rafferty confirmed. "A friend from his university days, I daresay. He met all manner of riffraff there."

  "Just so," Mr. Carlisle replied gravely, but with some laughter lurking in those blue eyes.

  "Are you the fellow who lives at Birmingham?" Rafferty continued, in an accusing way, his brows gathering in dismay. Miss Bradford thought that if she were the visitor, she would not admit to ever having been near Birmingham. "Edward went to a ball in Birmingham."

  "Oh, really?" Carlisle asked, quite obviously nonplussed by this piece of information. "No, I am from the Cotswold Hills."

  "Yes, I think I have you placed now," Rafferty said wisely. "Edward goes there every year for the hunting. I daresay it is you he visits."

  "He has visited me at home twice," Carlisle admitted.

  Nessa could see plainly he was uneasy with this pair of tartars. She took the idea he would be much more amusing on his own than in this company. He turned to her and made a few polite enquiries as to her place of origin, then expressed some familiarity with the area.

  Again the subject of Napoleon's possible invasion came up, to occupy a few minutes. When it got at last to be ten o'clock, Nessa glanced at the long-case clock standing against the wall, wondering if she could politely express her fatigue.

  "Time for your medicine, John," Mrs. Rafferty said, rising up like a puppet at the first gong from the clock.

  One had the idea their whole life was similarly regulated by clocks. A servant appeared promptly at the doorway, without having to be summoned. He bore a tray of bottles and droppers, giving the impression Rafferty was a professional invalid. "Will you excuse us?" Mrs. Rafferty said. "I have to measure John's medications." She went nearer the lamp to do so.

  Carlisle once again turned to Miss Bradford. "Lively evening," he said with a playful smile. The married couple spoke between themselves, allowing some privacy to the others.

  "Livelier than they are accustomed to or can quite like, I think," Vanessa answered with a deprecating smile of her own. "My arrival too was unexpected."

  "You escape tomorrow morning, if I understood correctly?" he asked.

  "As soon as the cock crows, I promise you."

  "I shall do likewise if Edward does not come. He's a devilish-odd chap, Edward. Do you know him?"

  "No, I am a stranger here, which makes my welcome not entirely enthusiastic. It is my aunt who is a friend, but she has gone to bed with a headache."

  "She is wise. It would be her previous acquaintance that accounts for the headache. I wonder what can account for her stopping at all?"

  His whole tone was facetious. As there was no fear he was after her letter, she answered, "It was a dire emergency, sir."

  "On your way home, are you?"

  "No, I have just come from home. We are going to visit friends at Ipswich."

  "Ipswich? I don't believe I know anyone there."

  "Family friends," she said, seeing no reason to mention a name.

  "Edward and I have planned a week of partying in the city. He often speaks of his parents as being strict, but I had no idea they were so gothic, till I stumbled in tonight. I shall leave at the crack of dawn if he is not here tonight.''

  "Don't you think you should give him till mid-morning?" she asked.

  "I imagine he has forgotten all about my visit. Actually, I was supposed to arrive at noon today myself, but got held up. If he is still not here, you know, it is unlikely he is coming at all. But I do not give up hope of him yet. He may arrive before we are sent off to bed. Do you suppose that battalion of bottles is to prepare Mr. Rafferty for a peaceful night? I doubt we'll be allowed to remain in the saloon without his chaperonage."

  "I was just calculating what hour would be not too uncivil to retire," she answered.

  "I begin to wonder if I would not be wiser to go to an inn. Do you happen to know if there is one close by?"

  "There is an inn at Tilbury—the White Swan. I noticed it as we came by," she told him.

  "Probably full at this hour."

  She did not contradict him, though she doubted her own lately abandoned room was taken yet.

  There was a positive snort from the corner when the door knocker was sounded for a third time. "Bad news always comes in threes," Mr. Rafferty said fatalistically, while Nessa held back a smile by biting her lip, and Carlisle laughed softly. "I own I am little enough addi
tion to the party, but I think he is hard to call you bad news, ma'am," he consoled her.

  Really he had the nicest smile, so open and confiding, yet with some intimacy too. It was the way he worked his eyes that did it, looking deeply into hers. Even Forrester had not such a winning smile.

  Another masculine voice sounded in the hallway, the tones of it familiar to Vanessa, who inhaled sharply. Her hand flew to her mouth in an instinctive gesture of shocked dismay.

  "What is it?" Carlisle asked, leaning forward quickly to look at her more closely.

  "It's Colonel Landon! Oh, dear—I ..." She looked about the room, seeking, in her befuddled state, a place to hide.

  Within seconds. Colonel Landon stood framed in the doorway, while the butler announced, "Mr. Kiley," in a state of exasperation which he made no effort to conceal.

  "I do beg your pardon, sir," Landon said, walking forward, toward Rafferty. "I have had the worst piece of luck. I broke an axle, just on the road outside of your place, and have come to ask directions to the nearest stable." Even as he spoke, his eyes flickered to Vanessa, leveling an accusing glare on her.

  She looked back as though she had seen a ghost. "Who is he? Is something the matter, Miss Bradford?" Carlisle asked her.

  "I don't know who he is. Oh, dear, what am I to do?"

  "Has he been bothering you? Is he following you?"

  She was unsure how much she should tell him, but began to look at Carlisle with a new interest. If Edward did not come, Mr. Carlisle was at loose ends and might help her out of her difficulty.

  "Come, now, tell me the truth," Carlisle urged with an encouraging look.

  "I can't tell you. Not now—not here."

  The conversation at the medications table was meanwhile going forth apace. Mr. Rafferty took delight in the broken axle, and the reason for it was not long kept to himself. "I've told them a dozen times that road wants fixing. Holes so big you could get lost in them. I broke an axle two weeks ago. I only save my carriage by driving along the edge, with one wheel half in the ditch. A stranger at night—it was bound to happen. Maybe now they'll tend to it. You want to report it in town, sir."

  "I certainly will," Landon answered with good humor. "My problem at the moment is how to get into town."

  "There won't be anyone at the municipal office at this hour. Go tomorrow morning."

  "Yes, but where shall I stable my team and myself tonight?"

  "You might as well stay here. Everyone else is. No one will come from the stables for you at this hour of the night. No one is willing to put himself out, even to make money. The world is going to ruin."

  "It is the drink that causes it," Landon said after taking careful note of the teacups scattered about the room.

  "You've hit it right on the head, lad! And where does the drink come from? From France, that is where. The wine, at least. It is Bonaparte who is at the bottom of it."

  "You're absolutely right," Landon said firmly.

  Nessa knew she was not imagining the fleeting smile of triumph that flickered over Landon's face. When he cast a swift look at her, her heart sank. He went into the hall with Mr. Rafferty. Before long—not more than ten minutes had passed—they were back. He had actually worked Rafferty up to a smile. She listened with keen interest to learn how he had worked this miracle. Even his wife was staring in disbelief.

  It was the war they were discussing, expressing every revulsion with Bonaparte, but Landon made no claims to being a soldier. What he appeared to have become was a government inspector of supplies for the Army. He had gauged his host's temper, and was inveighing against corruption in the business—shoddy goods delivered at inflated prices. The world was not only going to ruin, but gone. There wasn't an honest man between Land's End and Dover, with the exception of themselves.

  "Even my own son—I hate to admit it—takes his bottle of wine a day," Rafferty said, the smile fast fading at this profligacy.

  "Three is more like it," Carlisle said in a low voice.

  Mrs. Rafferty belonged to that numerous company of ladies who take their views from their husbands. When she saw John approved of Mr. Kiley, she sent off for a fresh pot of tea. After it was brought in, the two earlier guests were invited to join the other circle around the cold grate. Mr. Kiley was presented to them. He put on a polite face and said to Vanessa, "How do you do? I believe I am acquainted with your father, ma'am. Colonel Bradford, is it not?"

  "Yes," she said sharply, and added not another word. As the tea was slowly drunk, Carlisle joined the conversation. The hosts were more sociable now, perhaps because the third and last nuisance had been visited upon them. It gave Kiley a moment to speak to Vanessa.

  "That was an ill-advised move on your part, bolting from the inn," he told her.

  "How did you know? Did you follow me?"

  "Not immediately. I don't mind traveling on an empty stomach, but after twelve hours' fast, a man must eat something. As your aunt was kind enough to leave directions to her destination at the desk, there was no difficulty in finding you."

  "She didn't! Oh, the foolish ..."

  "Folly on both your parts. Don't be too hasty in sloughing off the blame. I have discovered by now which of you is in command of the operation. Where is the letter? Does your aunt have it abovestairs?"

  She lifted her chin and glared at him, without answering. He continued on, oblivious to her snubs. "Don't leave it with her. She is even more shatter-brained than yourself. Leaving your direction at the inn, my God! Anyone would have easy work of the pair of you. Have you got it on you now?"

  She could never become accustomed to those bold, dark eyes, examining her anatomy with the closest scrutiny. She remained rigidly silent, but he spoke on, with an occasional glance toward the other group, as though he were half listening to it. "Actually, coming here was not a bad idea, had you told me first and brought me along."

  "We only came to get away from you."

  "That gives me some idea of the high regard in which I am held. Did you not know any friendly undertakers or tooth drawers you might have gone to instead? How on earth do you come to be acquainted with such gothic characters?"

  "One has, unfortunately, not always a choice in one's acquaintances," she said.

  "Touché. Was the callow Carlisle also foisted on you against your will? Who is he? Was he here when you arrived?"

  "No, he was not, and I don't know who he is."

  "How long after you came did he show up?"

  "Half an hour, more or less. Why do you ask?"

  "That makes the time about right. What excuse did he give for coming?"

  "He is a friend of the family; he is not a French spy, and don't bother hinting that he is."

  "Not all who spy for France are of French origin."

  "I know that! Neither do they all read French newspapers. Only the more careless amongst them leave such obvious clues."

  "I left it behind, did I? I was wondering where I had dropped it. I hold you to blame." She looked up questioningly at this speech. "Yes, your father told me only that you were a vain, silly girl, you see. He did not mention what good reason you have for your vanity. I did not picture you a fragile blonde at all. You must favor your mama in appearance, as well as—er, character?" he said, with a quizzing smile.

  "I am not silly enough to overlook the French newspaper in any case," she answered curtly. "And if my father thought so, he would not have sent me ..." She came to an angry silence, while a sly smile spread over Landon's harsh features.

  "Certainly he would not have given you the letter had he thought so. At last you admit that he did."

  "I did not!"

  "If it is the French paper that troubles you, let me explain. It is hardly incriminating, you know. We are all interested to discover what stories Boney is propagating to the common folks back in France. I personally pick one up whenever I can find it. If I were a French spy, I would not be caught dead with one. But enough of polite conversation. Let us get to bed before more of that dre
adful, weak tea is foisted on us. We shall want an early start in the morning.''

  "You—are—not—coming—with—us," she said, weighting every word with heavy emphasis.

  "How much do you want to wager?" he asked in a light tone. It was not hard to imagine even that he was laughing at her.

  "Why did you change your name and pretend not to know me, if you are innocent?" she demanded.

  He shrugged his shoulders. "It seemed a good idea at the time. Your father thought it a wise precaution that I change into mufti to detract attention from myself. The scarlet tunics are a trifle garish, you must own. As I was wearing civvies, I claimed a new job and name to go with them. Kiley struck me as having a good Methodist ring to it. I wish you had run to someone other than a Methodist. A glass of wine would go well before retiring."

  "I was not running to anyone, but from a gentleman even less amusing than Rafferty."

  "I can be tolerably amusing, under the proper conditions. There is not the least need for this journey to be so unpleasant. I have outgrown my love of hare and hounds quite a few years ago. In fact, as I did accidentally crack the axle of my carriage in that demmed hole in the road, I shall have to join you and your aunt in yours instead. We shall leave at seven. It is difficult to get out of a polite household earlier, or even an impolite one, such as this," he added with a considering look around him. "Be ready," he told her.

  It was a command, no less. She took a deep breath, ready to tell him her feelings in the matter. He lifted a hand and out-talked her. "Miss Bradford, pray do not make it necessary for me to steal Mr. Carlisle's carriage and undertake any more journeys this night. You had the advantage of sitting at ease in your carriage; I have been driving all day."

  "We were not at ease, but bounced around mercilessly!"

  "Poor child. Is that what has put you in such an almighty pucker? One really feels for the sufferings that are endured on the home front—the higher taxes, the occasional shortage of silk or brandy. Sometimes I feel we soldiers have the better of the bargain, only having to dodge bullets and occasionally go without food or bed. But I shall shed a tear for you another time. Having the luxury of a bed awaiting me tonight, I would like to get a few hours' use from it. I would sleep better if you would tell me where you have put the letter."